Once upon a time a tune
by Bond.Jane
Summary: A collection of short one shots inspired by some of my favorite songs. NOT SONG FICS. Strong language and, obviously, smut through out. "Thank You" now added.
1. Breathe

**Author's note: This is my first foray into Castle fandom. It will be a collection of short one shots inspired by the songs that give it title though, definitely, NOT SONG FICS. I hope you enjoy. I hope you review. Reviews are nice. :)**

**Note 2: As ever, thank you to my lovely beta MickeyBoggs.**

**Note 3; (man, I am verbose today!) If you came to this story because you have an author alert and are hoping for "Are you there" from the Bones fandom, please be assured that I have not forgotten about it. The next chapter is coming soon. **

**With love**

**Jane**

**.**

**.**

**Breathe **(Faith Hill)

I can feel the magic floating in the air  
Being with you gets me that way  
I watch the sunlight dance across your face  
And I've never been this swept away  
All my thoughts just seem to settle on the breeze  
When I'm lying wrapped up in your arms  
The whole world just fades away  
The only thing I hear  
Is the beating of your heart

Cause I can feel you breathe  
It's washing over me  
And suddenly I'm melting into you  
There's nothing left to prove  
Baby, all we need is just to be  
Caught up in the touch  
Slow and steady rush  
Baby, isn't that the way that love's suppose to be  
I can feel you breathe

In a way I know my heart is waking up  
As all the walls come tumbling down  
Closer than I've ever felt before  
And I know, and you know  
There's no need for words right now

I can feel the magic floating in the air  
Being with you gets me that way...

.

.  
********************************

It was the breath that gave her away. Those heated fast intakes of breath from the heated argument suddenly changed into soft exhale that caressed his face in a way her hands had never done. The pissing contest was over in a heartbeat but the challenge still hung in the air. All his bravado, all his flair condensed into one single though: _stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid_. But, hell, he couldn't help himself. He closed the minute distance and fastened his hungry lips over hers. The first touch was the stuff his wet dreams were made of: violent heat, thunderstorms and all that his words on the page had never come close to reproducing.

Stupid. Really stupid.

Rush of blood to the head.

Any minute now she would deck him. Any minute now she was going to throw his ass on the floor and beat the shit out of him. Stupid. Really stupid. Except smart wouldn't feel half as satisfying. And the blood rush made him dizzy, giddy. He wanted more.

He wanted it all. All of her.

She didn't deck him. She didn't so much as make a move to break the contact between the small expanse of their skins touching. She just breathed. Deep, slow, steady. The air that was in her was his to inhale. He did. Greedy son of bitch that he was, he breathed her in, her used up air, her scent, her. His hands went from the chair he was gripping to her short hair and pulled her closer, so close he could have tucked himself under her skin. And he took more of the kiss. If she snapped out of it now and decided to kill him, he could die happy.

How long did that kiss last?

Fuck if he knew.

"I should have stayed in the car."

"Yeah, you should."

"I'm not sorry."

Her brow did the little question mark thing he'd made sure Nikki Heat got from her.

"Are you gonna hurt me now?"

She took his bottom lip between her teeth and bit softly, playing it cool. Her breath was what gave her way. Hot, fast, rushed. God, he loved her sounds. Her heels click-clacking it when she strode places, her snorts when he said something stupid, all that she said, all she did not cry. He was a goner and knew it. He licked his lip when her teeth left him, missing the pressure.

"Only a little."

Oh yeah, he was a goner. She melted into him and he was in for the ride of his life.

_Just breathe, Rick. Just breathe_.


	2. Caramel

**Author's note: Thank you all for touching base after the first chapter. **

**I have uploaded the videos for the songs I'm using into my webpage which will useful if you don't know the songs I'm using. **

**This one, Caramel, is a sexy little number by Ms Suzanne Vega. It's well worth checking your iTunes for it.**

**.**

**Note 2: Thank you to MickeyBoggs, beta extraordinaire. **

**.**

**With Love**

**Jane**

**.  
**

Caramel

It won't do  
to dream of caramel,  
to think of cinnamon  
and long for you.

It won't do  
to stir a deep desire,  
to fan a hidden fire  
that can never burn true.

I know your name,  
I know your skin,  
I know the way  
these things begin;

But I don't know  
how I would live with myself,  
what I'd forgive of myself  
if you don't go.

So goodbye,  
sweet appetite,  
no single bite  
could satisfy...

I know your name,  
I know your skin,  
I know the way  
these things begin;

But I don't know  
what I would give of myself,  
how I would live with myself  
if you don't go.

It won't do  
to dream of caramel,  
to think of cinnamon  
and long  
for you.

It wasn't a mistake.

Breaking it up with Demming had not been a mistake. It was the right thing to do even if Castle had just walked out of her life with a blond draped on his arm. An ex-wife, no less. She did not waste. She hated waste. Demming would be wasted on her. She could not be what he deserved.

She longed for other things. For other scents, other skin. Which was bad for her. Really bad. Castle was not for her. He was spoiled rotten, childish, a pebble in her shoe, sand in her bikini panties, a pain in the ass.

The mistake was this, right here, this longing for _him. _This feeding the hunger for him. This opening her heart to the possibility only to have it tossed along with the napkin filled of his pizza-stained prints. This was the crass mistake. And she knew better.

Beckett turned around when she realized she was still holding a beer bottle, still looking at the empty door Castle had just walked through. She ran her hand through her hair, a gesture she had long ago trained herself to give up as a show of weakness. She was better than this kind of tells.

The white murder board loomed over her. Challenging her. Maybe if she took the markers and wrote it down, she could pin it down, what that twinge, that almost pain, in her heart, in the pit of her stomach meant. Maybe if she took the markers, she could give it a name, an acceptable name. She did not like the only word that came to her mind in that moment.

She hated the word. She hated it with all her mind. Kate Beckett was better than this.

Kate Beckett did not do _jealous_.

More importantly, Kate Beckett did not do j_ealous _because j_ealous_ meant one other word, one that she was not prepared to feel again. No. Absolutely not. She didn't. Couldn't. Wouldn't.

But the stupid white board might as well be splattered with the hard evidence of what she refused to acknowledge. That white board might as well be spattered with the remains of her stupid little heart that didn't know any better than to long for someone with the constancy of Jell-O in the heat.

Kate Beckett knew better.

Richard Castle was a no go area.

Still, Kate Beckett's heart longed for him. Craved him as a last meal.

One slow, out of character tear slid down her lonely cheek. Yeah, no point pining for him. He would be enjoying the summer in the Hamptons buried in blond until he had forgotten her name.

She picked up her coat, checked her keys and phone. She packed up her heart and its longing and her desire and tried to make her body move.

It was stupid. It was really stupid.

She turned to leave.

And hit against the broad chest, an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object, the impact of the blue, blue eyes harder than a single slug to the heart.

Castle didn't touch her. He just looked in wonderment.

The unflappable Beckett was rattling around inside her skin.

"Did you forget something?"

"No."

"You seem to have forgotten your blond outside."

"Nah."

"No?"

"No. I just realized that I'm too old to crave something and then settle for another." His hand touched a strand of hair that hung loose close to her face. "I really want to kiss you now... Kate." He pronounced her name as if he was trying on a new sound, a new language. He found that it suited the curves of his tongue and the edges of his teeth as if it had always belonged there.

Beckett's eyes were caught on his, almost as if they were the only thing available to look at in the whole wide world.

It was her body that moved, independent of her will, some sort of muscular instinct.

"A taste won't be enough, Kate."

She was pretty sure of that too. She was pretty sure that even though every ounce of good sense in her told her that this was a bad, a _really_ bad idea, it just wouldn't do, to walk away.

She leaned into him. He covered half the distance. They met in the middle.

Enough with the eye fuck.

His mouth covered hers, hers opened for his invasion, met his stroke for stroke. It was a slow burn of a kiss, a hidden fire, burning, burning, burning.

And neither would let go.

The kiss was nowhere nearly done. But this was the bullpen and it was nowhere near private. He curled himself around her with his body and pulled her out into the street. There were better places to celebrate summer.


	3. I wanna be around

**Author's note: So many people have sung this song... my favourite? The great, the incomparable, Ms Dinah Washington, Empress of the Blues. Seriously, check it out. There is a link on my profile- the homepage.**

**Thank you to my beta, MickeyBoggs.**

**This one shot picks up again at the end of "A deadly game", just like the last one. This is just a little more in keeping with the ending. **

**Jane**

I wanna be around, to pick up the pieces -  
When somebody breaks your heart -  
Somebody twice as smart as I -  
Somebody who would swear to be true,  
like you used to do with me -  
Who'll leave you to learn,  
misery loves company -  
Wait and see.

I wanna be around to see how she does it  
When she breaks your heart to bits -  
Baby let's see if that puzzle really fits, so fine -  
And that's when I'll discover that revenge is sweet,  
as I sit there applauding from my front row seat -  
When somebody breaks your heart

Like you broke mine. 

Kate's heart was doing its best to pound a hole in her chest. She took one more long sip of wine. She considered briefly upgrading to vodka or grade one distilled alcohol but her mind didn't dwell on the topic, busy as it was castigating her for the group performance of earlier that evening at the precinct. She could still feel her fingers squeezing around the cold neck of the beer bottle. Were that it was his neck, as Castle walked out _her _bullpen completely engulfed in waves of cheap perfume and a bad Garnier Nutrisse job.

She grunted and slid gracefully into the warm water of the tub in an attempt to drown all movements of her brain. She'd rather be unconscious than remember that evening at all.

OK, fine. The perfume wasn't cheap and the highlights were most likely not Garnier. Alimony should be more than enough to buy the designer stuff. She hated being unfair. Occupational hazard. God, how much simpler would it be to just run him down with her official vehicle he so enjoyed making fun of, leaving him a mere spot on the road like a discarded chewing gum.

Trust her to choose to open her heart, the very same heart she'd kept under lock and key at all times, at the very moment Castle decided to revisit the past.

She opened her eyes under the warm water and contemplated the flickering of the candles she had lit.

That should teach her a lesson. To allow herself to be vulnerable because of a man- and not just any man, but that lying sack of shit with a Peter Pan complex- right under the watchful eyes of the entire precinct. Well done detective Beckett.

She had stolen a glance to the room where her whole frickin' team was looking at her with not even ill-disguised pity and she felt like jumping head first off a really high balcony onto the pavement.

She hated him with the fire of a thousand suns. Maybe more. And she wished the blond would walk all over him. She wished that Gina – god, how she hated the name right there and then- would whisper sweet nothings in his ear and make him believe all sorts of crap and make feel wanted and valuable only to then just pull the rug from under him. Ah she would love to be there to see him fall. "See how the might fall, Castle". A small, sideways laughter and that would kill his confidence. Well, at least, half of it. Oh yeah, that would be the day of vindication. Seeing him trying to piece together his broken heart. If he had one. Which she doubted. He was just one more womanizer. A womanizer with a huge trump card- being a doting father and devoted son. Which was nearly as irresistible to women as kittens or puppies or baby booties.

God, she had been such a _woman_ about the whole damned thing, jumping to believe he was serious about all his advances. Because they had been advances. And what about all his hurt looks when she had flirted with someone else. He had played her shamelessly. But what pissed her off the most was that she had _allowed_ herself to be played. As if she didn't know any better. She was a grown woman. She knew how men operated, how they seduced and played with women. Detective. She was a fricking detective. And she hadn't detected a single thing. God, had Gina come in a minute later and she would have made an absolute fool of herself.

She came back for air.

That was why she felt like crying. Could only be that. She was a tough cookie. She did not cry for a man. Any man. Not even if that man was Rick Castle and she had made him pancakes and breakfast. No. That almost impossible urge to cry was all about the near humiliation experience. And most definitely, relief at that more than narrow escape. For sure it was. Nothing else.

Oh yeah, there'd be payback. And she wouldn't even to put any effort into it. It was plain for a blind man to see: Gina would break his heart again. And, God as her witness, she'd make sure she'd be around to see that, She'd be sitting front row seat.

She'd absolutely feel better than.

Probably.

Most likely.

She took a long sip from her wine.

Yeah…

Then why didn't that thought make her feel better?

Why didn't puncturing his heart under her heal make her feel herself again?

In flash of panic and hurt and hate she smashed her crystal glass against the opposite wall.

The sound of shattering crystal answered her question:

Because her heart was broken, pulverised and she would never be able to put it back together again.


	4. Thank You

**Author's note: Thank you to MickeyBoggs for her patience with me and my unseemly allergy to punctuation during speech.**

**This song and I go back. It is one of those loaded with memories and it doesn't really matter if the memories are no longer relevant, what matters is that this song still makes me smile, still makes me feel better. And isn't that a great power for a song to have?**

**The lyrics are by the lovely Dido Armstrong. **

**With Love**

**Jane**

Thank you – Dido

My tea's gone cold, I'm wondering why  
I got out of bed at all  
The morning rain clouds up my window  
and I can't see at all  
And even if I could it'd all be grey,  
but your picture on my wall  
It reminds me that it's not so bad,  
it's not so bad

I drank too much last night, got bills to pay,  
my head just feels in pain  
I missed the bus and there'll be hell today,  
I'm late for work again  
And even if I'm there, they'll all imply  
that I might not last the day  
And then you call me and it's not so bad,  
it's not so bad and

I want to thank you  
for giving me the best day of my life  
Oh just to be with you  
is having the best day of my life

Push the door, I'm home at last  
and I'm soaking through and through  
Then you hand me a towel  
and all I see is you  
And even if my house falls down,  
I wouldn't have a clue  
Because you're near me and

I want to thank you  
for giving me the best day of my life  
Oh just to be with you  
is having the best day of my life

She didn't have the strength to go pound the punching bag in the gym into early retirement. She just wanted to scream.

Strike one: Her obscenely expensive Jimmy Choos were ruined.

Strike two: She had a blocked nose and a sore throat and, by mid-afternoon, a really bad cold that, due to blinding headache, she didn't even have the will to disguise.

Strike three: Her handcuffs around old Mrs. Rossi's fragile wrists when they should have been around her no good husband's thick and very dead ones.

By the end of the day, she was ready to indulge – privately – in her own little suck fest.

.

.

.

.

.

The day hadn't even started that badly. Bellinis for brunch on a bright, if cold, Sunday morning were almost as good as sex. The Bellinis were that good. Or maybe she just hadn't had sex in a reaaaaaaaaaally long time.

"Hi Lanie."

"Say thank you."

"Thank you." She hunted under her pillow for a tissue. "What am I saying thank you for?"

"Your vic. I got me some details that you'll want to know."

Beckett sneezed. Then cursed softly under her breath.

"Hit me."

"You know, Bellinis say thank you in a sweet accent."

"Bellinis?"

"Bellinis."

One more sneeze.

"Lanie…"

"It's Sunday, Detective. I've worked through the night. And I had a very promising date lined up that I had to ditch. Which meant no sex. Which means, for your intents and purposes, that I am sexless, therefore, grumpy. So, Bellinis."

"Gigio's?"

"Damned good Bellinis, though they hardly make up for good sex."

"And don't I know it?"

"Half an hour, girl. Don't keep me waiting."

Sun was always a plus in a cold nearly winter morning. Lanie was sitting at a table outside, god only knew why.

"Jeez, girl, have an aspirin, will you? And kindly keep those germs away from me."

"What have you got for, me Lanie? I don't usually dole out Bellinis for advice on aspirin."

"Good morning to you too, sunshine. How about some foreplay? Oh, I don't know, _jeez, Lanie, you look good today_ sort of thing… "

A Bellini appeared in front of her.

"You're easy…"

"Yeah… cheap date though I am, I'm hungry…"

"Egg white omelette?"

"Nah… I want the works. All the cholesterol I'm entitled to, please. So your vic?"

"Mr. Nice Guy"

"Yeah, him. I swear, even dead he is one mean son of a bitch. Anyway." Lanie sighed in pleasure, eyes closed to the sunshine. "Man, you gotta love a Bellini for brunch!"

It was none of her business and, honestly, she should have known better, but as she heard the beat cop pounding down the side walk, his breath heavy and erratic, the scum bag running merrily ahead of the flabby officer, she didn't even need to run after the perp. She just stretched her foot and tripped the running thief, still holding on to a lady's purse. The man landed face first onto the pavement, so success on that front. But just like that, in the line of somebody else's duty, her near-mortgage-expensive Jimmy Choos fell victim to that low life, rat bastard, scum bag. The heel hung limp from the rest of the shoe and a scratch the size of the football field decorated its very expensive side.

The idiot thief lay flat on his face, still clutching the stolen bag. Was a shoe worth discharging her firearm?

Beckett cradled the shoe fallen in the line of duty and turned to the Bellini. _Come to mamma._ She downed it in one greedy go. Better that than to pound that low life's sorry ass for making her limp into the precinct. She would never, ever, live that one down.

Not if the two horsemen of the apocalypse were sitting at their desks.

And what were the odds when outside is was bone stiff cold and Lanie had just come through with news? Yeah, that's exactly where they would be.

.

.

With a suitably murderous face, tailor-made to discourage any attempts at commiseration, Beckett marched into the precinct while summoning a Castle who was thoroughly engrossed in whatever idiot prank he had going on with Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.

As she tried not to limp too visibly towards the locker room, she barked out orders.

"Castle, we're on to the Rossi's residence. Ryan, Esposito, get me Rossi, Giovanni's rap sheet. He's got one, so go. Get it."

Sneeze once.

Sneeze twice.

"Hey boss, why don't you get yourself an aspirin?"

"Because_" Sneeze thrice. "_it is none of your damned business. Rap sheet. Go."

"Better make it a Tylenol. You're probably pms_ing_, detective."

Castle had to pipe in. God, he _just_ had to, didn't he?

"Castle, so help me God_" Was the sneezing fit ever going to stop? And it was probably true anyway. The pms_ing_. She wanted to lash out on him, all of it, the cold, the shoe, Mrs. Rossi, but he just offered her a tissue.

Who would have said that a paper tissue could be so… sympathetic?

"I need to change my shoes." And she walked out towards the locker room, trying and, she hoped, succeeding, looking not too undignified.

.

.

She picked up Mrs. Rossi after mass. The old lady just followed her to her car when she saw them, standing gravely, in the church's court yard. Beckett wished with all her heart that the frail grandma would not come so meekly. Like she had trained all her life for this heart stopping moment when all the abuse she had suffered was nothing but a preparation for something worse.

She prayed Mrs. Rossi did not confess.

A good lawyer would dismiss all evidence as circumstantial. And god help her, but Beckett would not press for a confession.

Turned out that being abused for over forty years did that to your spirit, it broke it and left nothing in the way of self preservation.

Mrs. Rossi confessed, though, speaking softly, matter-of-factly, that way you do when there is nothing left inside of you, no pity or regret, no guilt or fear. Just resignation.

Despite Beckett's best efforts, Mrs. Rossi explained in subdued detail how she had bashed a rolling pin into her husband's skull because she had finally had collected enough broken bones and bruises and had told enough lies to cover for the one that should have shielded and protected her from the world and being in jail would not be half as bad as the home she had grown a family in.

Silently, the handcuffs remained at her belt, a lingering look to Castle, because Beckett desperately needed him to tell her that Mrs. Rossi did not deserve a pair of cuffs around her dainty wrists.

Her hand guided Mrs. Rossi to booking, as gently as she could.

She heard herself warning the booking officer to be gentle, but nothing, nothing it seemed, could make her day any worse. Or any better, for that matter. These were the days she hated her job.

These were the days she knew she had seen enough. Seen enough to know that there were, perhaps, better things to do with her life.

She stole a moment when she could.

She hid in the locker room sitting at the very last row of benches, the one closer too the showers.

Slowly, she turned the broken shoe in the hand. How about that for a metaphor? Something pretty and dainty, abused until it broke, no chance to recover it.

Such a waste.

.

.

Enter strike four: Richard Castle and Richard Castle's antics and Richard Castle's inability to leave her the bloody hell alone.

When all she wanted was to cry because it would release the pressure in her throat, she had settle for swallowing that knot of nerves in order to breathe.

"Not now, Castle."

"I come bearing gifts."

"Castle…" She would have berated him. She resented that way he had to deal with things, buying his way around situations, buying them crazy expensive coffee machines and doling out invites for parties… It was so like him to try to buy a day into becoming better. But then, he opened his hand and inside was a little tube of super glue and he took her shoe from her hand and applied a little to the heel and gentle pressure.

After a few seconds of speechless gratitude, Castle put the shoe in her hand.

"It's not perfect, Kate, but it is still shoe."

Was it wrong to love the way he said _Kate_, as if it were an intimate caress or a familiar cuddle?

"Thank you."

Inexplicably, the tears she had been holding on to just slid past her cheeks. Sometimes, tears have to be cried so you can get past them. She could have done far worse than Castle to cry in front of.

It was also beyond explanation why she suddenly turned slightly to him and even more incomprehensible why she just stood there when he tentatively leaned into her and just let himself kiss her softly, just a peck really, that was over even before she'd had time to react.

But suddenly, it was like that residual heat from his lips on hers was radiating, slowly but steadily through her skin and her muscles and her bones.

Her face, dried of tears, opened in that small secret smile she had just for Richard Castle.

"Thank you."

Because just like that, one really shitty day had just shifted into, possibly, the best day of her life.


End file.
